


Little Song

by zinke



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slipping his arms around her waist, John pulls Helen flush against him before dipping his head to rest his cheek against hers. 'Hold tight,' he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Song

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, it is indeed possible to write Helen/John flashback fluff. Who knew? Also, the whole sonnet thing is totally gabolange’s fault – which is one of the reasons why I love her. Thanks to the lovely caz963 for the beta and the Brit-pick. Story contains spoilers through the season three episode ‘Vigilante’.

When Helen emerges from the lecture hall, John is there waiting for her, leaning against a nearby column with his cravat askew and academic gown draped casually over his arm.

“John,” she calls out as she makes her way across the portico towards him.

“Helen,” he acknowledges with a nod. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Indeed,” Helen replies, barely suppressing a grin as she slips her hand into the crook of his offered arm. “Tea?”

John shakes his head. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Helen raises her eyebrows in question, but John’s only response is an eager, slightly mischievous grin. His eyes are alight with an excitement she hasn’t seen in him for far too long and so ultimately she chooses to indulge him, allowing him to lead her out into the late afternoon sunlight, across the Chapel Quad and out onto Beef Lane. They make simple, pleasant conversation as they wind their way through the busy Oxford streets, but as they continue on their way, Helen can’t help noticing the way John keeps glancing over his shoulder. After the third or fourth time, she herself turns to look back down the lane behind them, but sees nothing that would give either of them cause for concern.

“John, what are you—?”

“Shhh…” he says, putting a finger to his lips. He takes a last look around before suddenly changing course and steering them down a narrow, deserted alleyway.

“John, really,” she complains as she struggles to keep up with his brisk pace. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Abruptly and without breaking his stride, John pulls her into the shadow of a nearby entryway. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulls her flush against him before dipping his head to rest his cheek against hers. “Hold tight,” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

Helen realizes his intentions almost immediately. Taking hold of his arms, she leans more fully against him and closes her eyes, succumbing to the warm, tingling sensation she can feel dancing across her skin. There’s a momentary feeling of disequilibrium and, when she opens her eyes a few seconds later, the familiar streets and storefronts of Oxford are gone.

John offers no resistance as she steps from his arms and turns, eyes wide, to take in their surroundings. They are standing atop a gentle slope, surrounded by a seemingly endless sea of rolling hills, each lined with row upon row of perfectly trimmed hedgerows. Standing tall above the distant tree line she can just make out the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and the spires of the Houses of Parliament, silhouetted against a gold and ruby-tinged sky.

She turns to him, her eyes wide with wonder. “You’ve brought me to London.”

“Not quite. This is Hampstead Heath. Parliament Hill, to be precise,” he says, shaking out his gown and spreading them on the grass with a flourish before extending a hand to her. “Sit with me?”

She accepts without hesitation and, once settled, they watch together in silence as the colors of the sky gradually deepen in hue, as far below the lights of the city begin to wink to life one at a time, twinkling amber points of light set against the inky blue of the encroaching dusk.

The evening star is shining brightly above their heads when Helen finally looks away from the spectacle to favor John with an appreciative smile. “Most gentlemen intent on impressing a lover would have simply recited a sonnet.”

He gives her a vaguely affronted look before placing a palm to his chest in an expansive parody of some of the Theater Royal’s less convincing actors. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day—”

“Shakespeare’s eighteenth?” she scoffs, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Is that the best you can do?”  
John’s expression immediately sobers. Eyes never leaving hers, he takes her hand in his and raises it to his lips. “All days,” he begins, speaking the words softly against her skin, “are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.” John pauses to run the pad of his thumb over the spot where his lips have just rested, then gives her a slight, lopsided grin. “Better?”  
Helen licks her lips and nods. “Much,” she breathes.

“And since you are such an authority on how one ought to go about wooing a lover, what – pray tell – should a gentleman do if he were hoping to bed the lady before the night is through?”

Helen laughs even as she feels the heat of a blush staining her cheeks. Rising to her feet, she sets about smoothing her skirts, all the while taking care to ignore the way John is watching her, his expression a mixture of poorly concealed amusement and desire. “I’d think dinner at Claridge’s would be a good place to start,” she replies in due course, glancing down at him with a puckish smile.

John gives a soft huff of laughter before standing and collecting his robes. “If that is what the lady wishes,” he says with an exaggerated bow.

“It is.” Helen studies him for a moment, then steps forward and, taking his head in her hands, draws him down for a lingering kiss. “Take me to London, John.”

She feels John’s arms gently encircle her waist and closes her eyes, sighing contentedly and lowering her head to rest against his chest as the buzz of electricity begins to build around them. She feels his lips brush across the crown of her head, and then they are gone, blazing through the ether together, safely bound in one another’s arms.

 

*fin.*


End file.
